


Domesticity of It All

by PumpkinMarsh



Series: Houswife Things [1]
Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Arthur Fleck/Reader - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Housewife Reader, Joker/Reader - Freeform, Reader-Insert, Smut, Wholesome, arthur fleck - Freeform, but also.., reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinMarsh/pseuds/PumpkinMarsh
Summary: Some headcanons about Arthur Fleck and a housewife reader
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You, Joker/You
Series: Houswife Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622779
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56





	Domesticity of It All

**Author's Note:**

> Bruh I lo ve love lvoe housewife things. It's just really cute but also super hoT. I'm planning to make this a part of a series where I just do some headcanons (housewife related) about 6-ish other characters. Maybe more if I get obsessed with another (i hope not because I stg there's too many mans, pls help)
> 
> Also, I know this kind of thing is usually just posted on Tumblr but hey what the heck, I'll post them on both

  * His nicknames for you are very endearing, yet sometimes a bit unconventional. One moment, he’s pirouetting around the apartment, twirling and dipping you low, his hand placed securely on your lower back as he murmurs a breathy _‘darling’_ in your ear. Others, he’ll come home from work – his drenched jacket clinging onto his thin frame – and lumber over to you, hugging you from behind ever so tightly, as if he was afraid to let go. Resting his head upon your shoulder, he’ll then greet you with a soft-spoken _‘hey, pickle.’_



  * There are _so_ many nice gestures from him: picking flowers from the park and tucking them into your hair, opening the door, giving you his sweater – literally any other romantic cliches you can think of. It’s his way of making up for the fact that his budget won’t allow him to take you out as often as he’d like.



  * Your wedding ring is a simplistic band, one he ~~_stole_~~ found from a dingy pawnshop, its plate blemished with worn-down coppery tones. 



  * He’d love to have children someday. The idea of having one or two running around sends his heart aflutter. He often wonders of having such a domestic life – the kind he frequently sees on the TV; the kind where a hardworking husband comes home to his loving wife and mischievous, yet well-mannered, kids. It’s not uncommon to find Arthur staring at you, his eyes filled with a cordial wonder, as he dreams of starting a family.



  * If you’re reluctant about having children, he’ll settle for a cat. His reaction to your hesitance would be heartbreaking but ultimately, he’d understand.



  * The apartment is a bit cluttered and while he’s certainly not the messiest, he does need some help. (The most affected area is the bathroom – towels are messily placed away, the toothpaste tube is awkwardly squeezed, and he somehow _always_ manages to get the floor wet no matter how many bath rugs there are.)



  * One of his favorite things to do is lie down on a freshly made bed. So if you tidy it up for his arrival, he’ll express his gratitude by crawling on top of it and sinking into the sheets with a deep sigh, relaxing his aching body. Too exhausted to form words, he’d lazily pat the mattress and invite you to join him for a well-deserved break. You’re barely able to settle next to him before he drifts off.



  * All his life, he’s had to cook for others, so the first time you prepare him a meal, he’s speechless. The longer he stares at the plate of warm food awaiting him patiently on the kitchen countertop, the more hesitant you become, your fingers starting to cramp from the way you fiddle with them. Just as you begin to self-consciously spew reasons for why it looked far too mushy, too crispy, too unappetizing, he calms your scattered mind with a few reassuring, albeit timorous, words. After grabbing two forks, he takes you by the hand and pulls you towards the living room to share the dish while tuning in to _The Murray Franklin Show_.



  * Though, a lot of the time you can't cook properly if he's there. Delicate caresses from his wandering hands lull you into a tranquil daze, both of you humming to the television's hushed jazz. You completely forget about the heated pots and pans until the familiar smell of burnt smoke wafts from the oven. Or, other times, he turns the stove's dials off and whisks you away. Any complaints you have are bound to be left behind as you bring him closer, accepting his gentle kisses and desperate touches while your hands get lost in his brunette locks.



  * On the days where he leaves early and you’re still asleep, he’ll leave a note.



  * If coming home to the stench of burnt tobacco isn’t your thing, you can try to implement a ‘no-smoking-inside’ rule. However, even though Arthur attempts to listen, there are some days where the only thing he wants to do is unwind with a few ~~packs~~ cigarettes. 



  * At least he’ll _usually_ make the effort of sitting close to an open window while puffing away. Sometimes, though, he just outright forgets.



  * This man **loves** to mess around and poke fun, even occasionally teasing you just to wind you up.



    * “Arthur, have you seen my bag? I need it before I go out.”



    * “Oh? I don’t know, haven’t seen it…” 



    * Before going off to check the bedroom a third time, you notice the particularly mischievous tone of his voice. You can practically _hear_ the smile behind his words. Seeing him only confirms your suspicions: a badly hidden grin is sat smack across his features and on top of that, he’s completely focused on the laces of his shoes as he ever-so-carefully ‘ties’ them. Almost as if trying to avoid your squinted gaze.



    * “Arthur…” 



    * His eyes, full of roguish amusement, flicker towards your frame before looking back down towards the very important task of fixing his shoelaces. It’ll take a bit of _convincing_ if you ever want to get your purse back. 



  * First-aid kits are a necessity. When you first move in, there isn’t a single one in the apartment since Arthur would much rather ignore his injuries and carry on with the week; distorted plum bruises used to slowly worsen due to his negligence. However, since the first time you witnessed him staggering home and persistently flinching away from your worried touch, you make sure to **always** have the kit ready for him.



  * Although you occasionally feel sorry for him, you know not to _pity_ him. Arthur has a bad habit of hiding away – literally and figuratively – during his most vulnerable moments, though if you give him a pitiful look, his reluctance will only intensify. Wanting most to avoid your distraught reactions towards his hiccuping laughter, he often locks himself in the bedroom as he desolately wipes the residual paint on his jaw away.



  * When you’re absent: 



    * Arthur refuses to sleep on the bed. Rather, he huddles up on the couch – eyes glazing over with irritation from the bright luminescent static staring back at him – waiting for your return.



    * Arthur can’t stand being away from you for so long. He’s desperate to hold you, to feel your comforting warmth against his sore body. If it becomes too much, he’ll briefly curl up in bed with your pillow tightly tucked in his arms.



    * Once you finally come home, you discover him gliding his hand over your spot of the sheets, lost in the chatter of his mind, until you enter the room. The way his eyes light up at the sound of your clacking heels and honeyed voice are enough to erase Gotham’s bleakness. 



  
  


  * He won’t admit it but whenever someone else talks to you, taking away time that you could be spending it with _him,_ his fingers twitch with white-hot anger and his mind conjures up images of that person sprawled across the floor in the most gruesome manner. Though, as soon as you turn your attention back to him, continuing your interrupted conversation, the violent depictions slowly yet surely diminish until they’re almost completely gone.



    * Late at night, however, Arthur stays up with his journal open, both pages filled to the brim with angry scribbles – jokes, entries, magazine clippings of crime scenes, anything to tame his graphic incessant thoughts.



  * Arthur will serenade you with his ukulele; usually, his tempo would remain a sporadic jingle, beckoning you to join the melody. However, if it’s late at night, he switches to a mellowed-out tune, gently whispering the lyrics while his fingers languidly pluck the instrument’s strings. 



  * He doesn’t really ‘sing’ per se – his vocal cords are somewhat lacking due to the strain they go through from his unrelenting laughter. Rather, he _says_ the verses, intentionally stopping and waiting for you to continue the tune. Seriously, he’s quite persistent but only because he can’t get enough of your voice. ~~_Guess you could say it’s like music to his ears._~~



  * Some nights are tense. Occasional evening quarrels result from a variety of problems, but the one subject that comes up time and time again, that constantly rattles about and eats away at your minds: finances. Seeing as there’s barely enough money to afford the month’s necessities, and what little _is_ left behind gets saved for the next quarter to ensure a roof over your heads, you frantically scramble to figure out ways to cut down on your living costs. More often than not, Arthur tries to inconspicuously scrounge up a few dollars by eating sparingly, grabbing the rare dime off the floor, or by working various gigs throughout the week. 



  * He _can_ and _will_ hold a grudge if he feels that you're in the wrong, so expect nothing but furrowed brows and pouts until you convince him otherwise. 



  * Once you’re both able to regain composure, he climbs into bed with you, wrapping his arms from behind, and tucks his head into the crook of your neck. With a hush _‘sorry’_ and _‘I love you,’_ his shaky breaths leisurely turn into soft snores – pacifying your frantic thoughts, soothing you into a deep sleep. You easily forget the day’s troubles.



**NSFW**

  * Arthur's _quite_ the deviant. He’d never admit most of his fantasies, preferring to play them out in his head while you’re away, but there are times when he's just **insatiable.**



  * There's nothing Arthur loves more than seeing you fumbling around in the kitchen with an apron wrapped tightly over your form, messy knot clumped at your mid-back. The domesticity of it all, knowing that you're _his and his only,_ brings certain hunger out of him. He'll press himself from behind, dragging his hands underneath the apron's fabric and grope curiously at your flesh, ignoring your small protests. Placid kisses would be planted onto your neck, ever-so-slowly traveling up to your cheek, as his hips languidly rut against you.



  * Breeding kink.



    * There are quite a few reasons for this: the idea of having a kid is alluring and all but the reality is that whenever Arthur pulls you closer to him, locking you into place as he chases his orgasm, it feeds a hidden, darker desire of his.



    * On the surface, he behaves ‘normal.’ Or, at least, how he _thinks_ he should act. So often does he try to suffocate the more twisted yearnings whenever he’s around you since he doesn’t want you – the only light, the only comfort in his dismal life – to run away in disgust. 



    * But the rush, the absolute **thrill,** he experiences every time your walls clench around his cock, greedily accepting each hot spurt, it’s as if he’s claiming you as his. As if no one else can touch you. As if this one precious thing is his to keep.



    * Just as his movements hitch and stutter, an obvious sign of his approaching climax, he’d grab your waist and slam into you one more time – the skin of his knuckles turning white with force from the harsh grip on your flesh to keep you from squirming away. Making sure to press his pelvis flush against you, Arthur would gingerly sweep your hair to the side, exposing your neck and covering it with gentle pecks and teasing nibbles.



    * Towards the end, he’d reassure you with broken praises and the occasional curse as dribbles of his cum slowly drip down, staining the sheets beneath your tremorous form.



  * Praise kink for days. Seriously, just show this man some much-needed affection and he'll be like putty in your hands.



  * Prefers giving rather than receiving. Not only is Arthur still a bit timid, but he just can't get enough of your reactions – every jolt, every shiver, every whimper under his fervent grasp only serve to further encourage him.



  * He tends to get… lonely when you’re away.



  * You come home, spent from the day's work. Just as you walk near the bedroom, you hear quiet moans and whimpers along with a breathy mention of your name. Peering through the open door, you find Arthur in nothing but a sweater and briefs – biting down on a lit cigarette, attempting to stifle his noises as he desperately thrusts into his fist.



  * It’s up to you whether you’ll join him or leave him to his own devices.



**Author's Note:**

> SURPRISE, I'm not dead!!! It honestly takes me quite a while to update but it's okay fjcds Anywaays, my girl @clownsxclowns helped me once again with editing!! Also, big shoutout to @arthur-fleck-imagines (on tumblr) for letting me use their 'Arthur Fleck' font!! I changed it very slightly while editing the picture but legit it's sO cute and they're so tALENTED WTF


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